


Breaking Habits

by KomaruNaegi



Series: New Danganronpa V3: Fanfic Harmony [8]
Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: A singular but minor out-of-context spoiler, As well as one of Amami's siblings, Gift Fic, I named them all for some reason, M/M, NDRV3 Xmas in July, Shinguuji's sister makes a brief appearance, hair cutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-05 08:04:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11573880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KomaruNaegi/pseuds/KomaruNaegi
Summary: Shinguuji gets a haircut.





	Breaking Habits

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for Meli Wonderland! I hope you enjoy!

Class isn't particularly amusing at the current hour - nor is it ever, really, should he be completely honest with himself. Numbers were just never fascinating to him. Sure, he understood their societal necessity and use, but such didn't change the fact that they were far from his forte or level of interest.

As such, he lets his mind wander. The lesson will probably come back to him later, he supposes, brushing it off in favor of examining his hair. He lets long, dark strands fall upon the desk in front of him in clumps - neatly combed, yet somehow still disappointing, unsatisfactory. Taking a section in his bandaged hands, he squinted as to examine it. Eying a split end, he further sectioned the strand off, tearing apart at it with his fingers.

In the back leftmost corner of the class, Rantarou Amami is seated. Despite being surrounded by faces he's known for months, he still feels lonely. Sure, he's reached out to a few classmates in the past, but whilst the teacher is prattling away about square roots he can't help but feel small and insignificant, only to be a barrier as the harsh summer sunlight rests against his cheek. He scans the room once, and then again, eyeing a classmate who sits two rows in front of him: Korekiyo Shinguuji, picking apart his hair with his fingers. His fingers were always bandaged, mouth always covered, though he didn't know why, and he definitely wasn't one to prod at another for information they likely wished to keep private.

Eternities pass, papers are left blank as they stare at their owners, and finally, a bell rings. Amami celebrates by standing, outstretching his arms to the ceiling before balling them into fists. He takes a brief look out the window, noting a few other students as they make their way through another lap on the track. He sits on his desk as he watches, kicking his legs back and forth rhythmically as his teacher hurries out of the classroom. The runners then stop, nearly collapsing as they release their breath, and Amami slides off his own desk, now sitting at one parallel to the anthropologist.

"Good afternoon, Shinguuji-kun," he greets the other lazily, giving a hazy-eyed stare and a soft smile. His face remains relaxed, yet tired, as his legs resume kicking against the desk.

"Good afternoon," the other mimics, not bothering to give him so much as a look. He slumps over into his desk more, desperately clawing at a new strand of hair. Finally he holds it, tearing at the ends until they break apart, shooing the broken piece onto the floor without a care.

"You know, it's best to cut your hair when you get split ends," Amami interjects, using his fingers to grab at the desk as he leans forward. "If you rip them apart, they'll come back."

Shinguuji gives Amami a glance, though Amami can't read Shinguuji's expression from underneath the mask. He assumes it's neutral, and he can only hope it's not a frown. In that moment, the sunlight against his back gets warmer.

"...Though I'd rather not admit it, the practice of tearing my split ends apart has become habitual... I doubt trimming my hair would stop it," Shinguuji argues. Momentarily, he lets go of his hair, opting to stare at the buzz of the class around him.

"Breaking habits is hard," Amami starts, pushing himself off the desk as he goes to lean against it, "I'd know. I used to be a nervous nail biter."

Saying this, he brings his nails to his face. A metallic silver coats them, glittering in the small bits of sunlight that slip past his shadow. Shinguuji eyes him, bemused.

"Do you think they look nice? I wanted to do something that complemented the weather," Amami says, turning his hands outward so that the other can see them.

"They are rather well done," he comments, unknowingly shifting in his seat so that he can face the other. "Did you get them painted?"

At that, Amami can't help but giggle. "Nope, I just paint my nails from home. My sisters ask for nail art a lot, so I always used myself for practice."

Shinguuji seems to perk up slightly at the mention of a sibling. Amami can't tell for certain, but something makes him feel as if he can sense a small smile, perhaps a smirk from the other.

"I have a sister myself," Shinguuji mutters, his first attempt at leading the conversation. "She's rather beautiful, I'd say."

Amami brings a hand to his face as if to stifle a giggle. "That's a funny way to describe your own sister."

"Kukuku..." Shinguuji laughs, bringing a finger to his mouth. "She is the pride of the family."

"I have twelve sisters, actually," Amami starts, taking a moment to stand, as opposed to casually leaning against the desk. He holds out his hands, beginning to count on his fingers. "Noriko-chan, Renge-chan, Chris-chan, Homura-chan, Sui-chan, Izetta-chan, Ochako-chan, Hanabi-chan," he pauses for a moment, either out of a need to breath or of forgetfulness, "Kazane-chan, Riko-chan, Ako-chan, and Yuki-chan."

"And you're the only male in the household?"

"Yep," Amami chirps, closing his eyes momentarily, "I guess that's why I ended up being such a sissy."

Shinguuji gives him another look as if to acknowledge his words before returning to his hair. He twiddles it between his fingers, looking for split ends.

"I could cut your hair for you, if you'd like," Amami offers, clicking his silver nails against Shinguuji's desk. He gives the other a soft smile.

For some reason, the smile feels... invasive. Shinguuji can't tell if he likes it. Having someone else, a male no less, so close in his personal bubble and offering him a service seems... strange. It's not like he's breaking a social taboo, and it seems to be in good nature, but something about the situation is making his senses shift into high-gear.

"How much would you expect to be paid?" he finds himself asking, not quite sure why he feels so tense right now. This is probably what normal friendships are like, but when you're just the creepy guy in the mask, having someone initiate a conversation with you in the first place is beyond strange. Though he usually seems to have more composure than this.

"Oh, nothing! It'd be on me," Amami answers, putting up his hands and shying away. Shinguuji releases a breath as he steps back, Amami's bracelets jingling as he shakes his hands in protest. Shinguuji can't help but thinks he looks rather... pretty. Aesthetically pleasing, perhaps.

"How about... Tomorrow afternoon? Three sound good?"

"I should be available..." Shinguuji murmurs, looking at the chalkboard that rests in the front of the classroom. He then glances towards the clock - class is bound to resume in a few moments.

"Well, that's great! Let me write down my number, hold on..."

Amami swiftly turns on the heel of his Converse, walking back to his own desk. He retrieves a notebook from his backpack, tearing away at the corner of a page and scribbling a code of digits down. He then walks back over to the other's desk, leaving the stray piece on the side. A teacher makes her way into the class, and the general chaos soon ceases as everyone makes their way back to their desks.

And for some reason, Shinguuji finds himself unable to think straight.

* * *

The day comes both all too quickly and all too slowly at the same time. Consciously, he hadn't thought he was excited for the event, and yet he finds himself staring at the clock in the kitchen every few minutes.

"Korekiyo, are you ready to go?" his sister asks from another room. He begins gathering his bearings, standing up and brushing off the dust that had begun to collect on his pants.

Even with his sister in the car beside him, he can't dismiss the churning in his stomach. His hands toy with each other restlessly. Has he always been this anxious?

The house he ends up at is... Daunting, to say the least. It's practically a mansion, and he finds himself blinking as if to assure it's actually there. He eyes his phone: 2:58 P.M. He sits on the doorstep, scrolling through Twitter as he waits for the hour to change.

As soon as it does, he knocks.

It takes him a few moments to catch himself, unknowingly pausing to eye the world around him and put words to all the lovely things he’s seeing. Noting that a knock hadn't worked, he instead goes for the doorbell, pushing a singular bandaged finger against it. A cheery sound reverberates throughout the house, and he can hear what he believes to be scampering footsteps approaching.

The door violently thrashes itself open, only to reveal a small figure. A girl with short blue hair, a tooth evidently missing from her mouth. She’s probably six or seven years old, should he have to guess. Immediately, she lets out a shrill scream, quickly looking Shinguuji from head to toe as her body shakes with fear. She then slams the door with admirable force.

Again, the house echoes with sound as its inhabitants race around, alarmed by the visitor. Eventually, a heavier footstep can be heard, walking slowly in strides. The door again opens, this time more slowly as Amami’s face presents himself. As always, he wears a casual, relaxed smile. He waves towards Shinguuji, and he can’t help but notice how nice his silver rings look in the sunlight. “Come on in,” Amami gestures, extending a hand towards the interior of the building.

"Please don't mind Sui-chan, she's petrified of men," Amami says, allowing Shinguuji a moment to take in the sight of the house. Shinguuji places a hand to his chin, curling his mouth into slight smile.

The two find themselves at the end of an elongated hallway, stopped by a large wooden door. Shinguuji stares it down as Amami reaches into his pockets, taking out a small, silver key. He turns it counter-clockwise, opening it so that his guest can enter.

"For what reason was it locked?" Shinguuji asks, his heels clicking against the tile. The room is small - square, with a singular white light on the ceiling.

"It's been that way as long as I can remember," Amami answers, shutting the door behind him. "Plus, I don't really want any of my younger siblings to stumble in here and hurt themselves."

Shinguuji nods, looking over the room curiously once again. Amami takes a black sheet from a conveniently-located hanger, patting against the pleather seat that rests in the middle of the room. Amami drapes the cape over Shinguuji, who looks at it for quite a few moments, as he does with nearly everything he sees. Amami takes off his hat, setting it aside on the counter before wheeling Shinguuji over to the sink.

"Rest your head here for me, please," Amami instructs. Shinguuji does so, and Amami begins combing the other's hair into the sink through his fingers. The sink is then turned on, warm water pooling at its base. Amami combs through the strands, first with his fingers before heading to the other side of the room to get a comb.

Shinguuji isn't quite sure what to think when the other begins putting product into his hair. Either he isn't used to human contact, or Amami's being much to gentle - something along those lines. Fingers lightly scratch his head, stopping at any knots to lightly pull them apart. The sink soon shuts off, as Amami blots the wet hair dry with the use of a towel.

The chair is wheeled back into the center of the room as Shinguuji sits up. Amami is at the counter, back turned as he takes out supplies. Again, the bracelets jingle, and his silver nails sparkle in the light.

...Admiration. That's what this is. Nothing more.

The towel returns, and Amami individually dries pieces off with it. He hums some tune to himself, beginning to sing the words without notice.

"Tanoshisa mirakuru..." the boy hums, a soft smile gracing his features.

"You sing well."

Amami stops in his tracks, a hint of red gracing his cheeks. He then scratches at the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed.

Shinguuji thinks that face looks particularly beautiful - maybe he can see it again sometime.

"You caught me, haha," Amami giggles, trailing towards the backside of the other's chair. "How much do you want off?"

Shinguuji closes his eyes momentarily, allowing his lips to purse.

"Surprise me, perhaps?"

"If you say so," Amami says, giggling.

The snipping of scissors and humming of songs about miracles and happiness and friendship is rather pleasant, or so Shinguuji thinks. He allows his eyes to close, taking in the moment, trusting that Amami will do something decent with his hair. Heels click, shears snip, and Shinguuji finds the other directing his head into all sorts of weird angles. As another tune climaxes, a final snip is made.

"And... done! Do you like it?"

Amami spins him around, facing the mirror. Inky strands fall over the cape, revealing a cut much shorter than the one before. The hair rests an inch or so above his shoulders, in a nice bob. Shinguuji wraps a finger around it, dragging it as if to find a split end, only to be left empty-handed.

"Oh, hold on, I forgot something. Close your eyes..."

Shinguuji does so. The cape comes off, and Amami turns to store it back on the hanger. He then steps back towards him.

"Hold still for a moment... Almost done..."

Amami outstretches a hand, quickly undoing the zipper of the other's mask. Shinguuji snaps his eyes open, trying to stop him, only to be stopped by Amami putting a soft kiss on his lips.

He blinks.

"And done!" Amami chirps, zipping the mask back up. He stands back with his hands behind him, as if he's proud of himself.

Shinguuji can see the cherry-red lipstick on him.

"Might I ask what that was for?"

Amami blinks momentarily, thinking for a moment.

"It's a good luck charm. So you don't get any more split ends."

Shinguuji closes his eyes before rolling them. Though, he can't help but chuckle, despite it all.

What a stupid reason. What a truly stupid reason.


End file.
